


Great Wide Void

by synergenic (Losseflame)



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M, Light BDSM, Matt needs someone to give him attentive intense affection, it's literally claire going down on matt, plus some bdsm lite, the boy needs a damn hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 10:53:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5414144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Losseflame/pseuds/synergenic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So Matt's a bit of a masochist.  Claire can't really say she's surprised.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Great Wide Void

So Matt's a bit of a masochist.

Claire can't really say she was surprised when Matt gasped at a bruised grazed accidentally, moaned at a bruise bitten deliberately. Matt wants sharp slaps and sweet words, begging for the latter while denying himself the former, and she's still a little wary of them, the earplugs, because for all that they're a sign of trust, they're also a way to neatly avoid Claire's penchant for sweet talk. Praise makes Matt writhe and cry and come harder than anyone she'd fucked before, but it also makes him guilty, like he's taken something he shouldn't have, something meant for someone else. Everything good is meant for someone else, it seems like.

She's tried talking to him about it, but talking to Matt when it isn't purely informational exchange is sometimes like pulling teeth bare-handed, and when it comes to this - intimacy, emotional support - Claire generally has to wrestle the words from him, one by one. So she mostly relies on touch, because this is the only thing he allows himself, physical pleasure structured by pain and devoid of as much comfort as he can possibly manage.

Tapping the bedframe makes him shift, tug on the restraints on his wrists, and sitting on the edge makes anticipation, earnest and shy enough to break her goddamn heart, rise up and mould itself onto his features. Softly, gently, she runs her fingers over the back of his foot, and he gasps, head turning in a motion that looks almost like sight to her.

"Claire," he rasps, quiet. His voice is unsure, the earplugs muffling but not quite completely blocking his hearing and the world blurring around him because of it. He should, by rights, be getting louder. Matt stifles himself instead, mumbles into the pillow and rolls his shoulders to hide from the waver in his gut, the want that manifests as something tangible inside him. It's been a long time since Claire has been with someone who's still ashamed of submitting, and she's clumsy, a bit. She bruises him in ways she doesn't mean to, sometimes.

"Hey, sweetheart," she murmurs, despite the futility of the sound. Stroking the taut bones of his foot, she kisses the arch, then the ankle, letting Matt get acclimatized to the feel of her. "You're doing so good for me. You're so gorgeous."

His stomach flexes when she reaches his knee, nosing over the dips and ridges there as her fingers make questioning little circles across his shin, up along the inside of his thigh. His hips twitch. He's hard, she can see the curve of him outlined by his cotton black boxers, and Claire wants to lean over and mouth at him till his cotton black boxers are damp and clingy, but that would startle him. That would be much too quick.

One hand she curls around his right thigh, scratching and tugging at the hair under her fingertips, while the other pushes his left leg to the side, pressing it down into the mattress as she settles herself in the cradle of space his limbs create. There she pauses, a hand on either thigh, before she allows them to wander slowly upward, her lips catching on the skin of his stomach as she leans over him and trails kisses from his ribcage to his bellybutton to the vulnerable stretch of skin between his hips.

Matt's gasping, now, legs trembling and toes curling and she hasn't even done anything yet, just the thought of her touching him has him trembling, and she'll be damned if a warm wet heat inside her doesn't start glowing like embers do at the thought. "Claire," he mumbles again, another rhythmic jerk of his wrists making the bedframe rattle. It's how she measures her progress, the dull metallic sound of Matt surging up against his restraints whenever the presence of pleasure shocks him. The scrape of her teeth over his solar plexus is good, running her thumb over the valley of where leg meets hip is good, the gentle press of fingers to his taint is good. She lets his gasps and his bitten-off recitations of her name and the shake of the bedframe show her where and how to touch, and by the time she breathes a warm breath over the clothed ridge of his cock he's shaking, mouth swollen a pretty pink from the pressure of his teeth as he fights to keep quiet.

"I like making you feel good. I like giving this to you," Claire says sincerely, frankly, because when Matt can't hear it is really the only opportunity she has to, and then she opens her mouth and tongues at the head of his cock.

"Oh, fuck, _Claire_ ," Matt sighs, still so quiet but with an intensity behind the arch of his voice, an urgency. "Fuck, Claire." She's only ever heard him swear in bed, and it's a vague goal of hers to see how filthy his mouth can get, to see what she has to do to get him desperate and slurring. Mouthing down the shaft, she wraps her lips around his ballsack as best she can, massaging with soft pressure and hot tongue as she palms the length of him, nosing at his crotch and breathing in.

"Jesus," Matt whispers, the good kind of humiliation staining the word red. A quick glance up shows her Matt with his face pressed into his arm, a blush in his cheeks that travels down his neck and over his chest in splotches. He gets so _shameful_ , when Claire talks about liking the taste of him, the smell. It's probably a Catholic guilt thing, this refusal to accept the sensuality of the body he inhabits, but every time Claire feels that same contortion in her gut, the helpless frustration that comes along with loving someone that deeply and genuinely dislikes himself. So she pushes, when she can, soft small pushes like this that leaves him too blissed out for the bad kind of humiliation to show itself.

She licks up the shaft, sucking at flesh through cotton that tastes like laundry detergent and Matt's sweat, kissing the swell of the head and lapping at it till she tastes the precum soaking through. "I love blowing you," Claire mumbles conspiratorially to the dick pressed up against her face, breathing a stream of cold air to listen to Matt choke and jerk and struggle half-heartedly. "I fucking love the taste of your cock, Matt, I love making you come in my mouth. Honestly. It's becoming an issue. I daydream about it. On the job. Very distracting. You should be ashamed of yourself."

As she speaks, she wriggles her hands under his ass and hooks her fingertips into the elastic of his boxers, and Matt braces his feet on the mattress and lifts his hips to help. The fabric _peels_ off his cock, spit and precum making it stick and Matt _sobs_ , fucking sobs when Claire exposes him to the cool air and drops the boxers onto the floor. Satisfaction warms her like the prickle of capsicum when she leans back and surveys the situation, a hand on Matt's hip to let him know where she is.

He's flushed red and watery-eyed, spread-eagled and naked and vulnerable before her and Claire's cunt clenches down on nothing when she takes a moment to appreciate the sight he makes. She'd always liked making pretty boys cry. 

Pressing herself up against him, she lets him feel the clothes she's still wearing, and the air leaves his lungs in a muffled whine, the knowledge of how thorough his nakedness is tautening his features with another swell of red-cheeked, sweet embarrassment. He sighs when she slots a thigh between his, grips his hips and scores the skin with her nails as she encourages a slow grind against her. She's in jeans and it must be rough but Matt moans open-mouthed and loud when she does, whorish and oh so pretty and Claire licks the sound right off of his tongue when she kisses him. Lips on lips and she'd almost forgotten why she liked kissing him so much, when she'd been distracted by his dick in her mouth. He's soft and giving underneath her, sighing when she bites his lips and gasping when she scrapes her teeth over his jaw, and she wraps a hand around his cock to jack him while she sucks a hickey onto his pulse point.

He's warm and solid and safe underneath her, safe for as long as he lets her take care of him, and Claire is gentle as she rubs a fingertip over the slit of his dick, marvelling at the sensation of his body arching under hers, at the smell of him that will cling to her hair for hours if she doesn't wash it off. Cupping his jaw in one hand, Claire presses a careful kiss to each eyelid, to his nose, to the bow of his lip and curve of his chin.

"Claire, _please_ ," he breathes, and Claire laughs, twisting her wrist and flicking her thumb under the head and breathing back a "yeah, baby" he doesn't hear. She kisses the hollow of his throat, pressing close to slide down his body. Reaching the edge of his bellybutton, she presses the tip of her tongue into it curiously, filing the action away as something to remember when it makes Matt's hips buck.

"Shhh," she murmurs into his hip, one hand securing itself on his waist as the other fumbles at the side of the bed, uncovering the lube she'd tucked between the wall and the bedframe because Claire strategizes. She plans ahead. And because it's right there, she kisses the base of his cock, feels the heat of it curved under her jaw and against her neck as she tries to open the cap blindly. The bottle opens with a click, an unanticipated deluge pouring over her fingers, and Matt flinches when some gets on his leg, a cold, surprising splash.

"Sorry, babe, sorry," Claire hurries, kissing his thigh in apology.

"Are you going to - _Claire_." Matt _melts_ when she presses slick fingers to his perineum, like his muscles have unspooled under his skin, and it makes the space between Claire's thighs tremble with a renewed wave of slick heat when it's accompanied by another moan that he'd forgotten to dampen.

"Hey," she soothes, rubbing small circles and opening her mouth to suck on the head of his cock. The thing with being a nurse is that you lose your gag reflex pretty quickly, so Claire pauses at the top to run her tongue over the slit and fully appreciate the salt-musk taste of him before she pushes herself onto his dick, opening her mouth wide then wider to accommodate him.

Matt _howls_ , wrists jerking once, twice, three times in rapid succession as he chokes over a breath of air and her name, always her name. The other thing with being a nurse is that some of the tricks of the trade can easily be innovated for sex, and as he writhes over the sensation of her swallowing him down, she slides a finger over his asshole and presses in, firm and quick till she's two knuckles deep and Matt is spasming around her.

"Claire, Claire, _Claire_ , please, Claire." It sounds like a prayer, now, a rhythmic rise and fall in the pitch of his voice, and Claire hums, curving her back and contorting her limbs to get more lube on her fingers without letting Matt's cock slip from her lips. She manages, drops the lube between her legs because she's sure she'll need it again, and starts to pull her finger out, the movement made easier by the extra slick on her palm. The breath is punched out of him when she pushes back inside, hooking her finger and pressing up against his prostate, and a raspy, pleading sound accompanies the sudden flex of his thighs.

They're heavy where they balance on Claire's shoulders, and she draws back with a loud, wet sound to nip at one of them, a small reminder to watch their strength. It wouldn't kill her, but Matt slamming his thighs together when her head is between them wouldn't fit with the plans she has for the night. "Yeah," Matt breathes in acknowledgement, and she licks a line from the base of his cock to the flared head in reward.

He's still nervous about this, about how good it feels to have something inside him, and that's a hot mess of repressed bisexuality and internalized homophobia and religious self-recrimination Claire is working up to working on, so she sticks to one finger for now, a beckoning motion leaving Matt babbling and wrecked. And she's good at this, at going down on someone, and as she swallows him down again she falls into a rhythm. There's a concept called flow, she watched a TED talk on it, and she's not sure they had this in mind when they were discussing it but she's pretty sure it applies, the idea of liking what you're doing to so much that time folds in on itself and becomes inconsequential when you're doing it.

Her world narrows down to the smell of Matt's body, the stretch of her lips around him and the way his hips shift and twitch, the way he clenches down on her finger. He's enveloping her, and distantly she can feel cramps growing in her legs and knots growing in her hair and the sticky discomfort of spit trailing down her chin, but that all seems secondary to the little sounds in the back of Matt's throat, the curl of his fingers and the heave of his ribs and the wide-eyed, stunned pleasure on his face.

His continuous, strangled moans pitch up, get urgent, and his stomach clenches low, heels tapping Claire's back as his legs move restlessly. Humming, Claire adjusts so she can get one hand on his dick, jacking what she can't fit into her mouth as she circles his prostate insistently. She needs to time this right, needs to -

Matt's joints lock, his mouth opening on a gasp as his back arches and his fingers splay wide like he's reaching for something, and Claire wraps her fingers around the base of his cock and squeezes. Matt makes a sound like he's wounded, a high-pitched wail that breaks itself down into a moan that curdles into a sob, his thighs holding her in place as he shudders and curses and kicks. Precum floods her mouth bitter and so damn satisfying, and Claire pulls off to let it drool out of her mouth back onto him. He looks slick and shiny and engorged, framed by the white skin of his belly and the dark curls of his pubic hair, and Claire can't help but kiss the bulbous, weeping head, licking away what seeps out of it.

"You have the prettiest cock," she breathes, letting the air trail over his dick and watching it twitch. Then she disentangles herself from his legs, pushing the hair back from her forehead and tying it back with an elastic she keeps on her wrist. Her mouth feels sensitive and swollen, and she wipes it with the back of her hand before she strokes Matt's legs, comforting him as he whines and writhes. 

"Claire, wait, Claire, please, I want - so _close_ , Claire," Matt stumbles, arching his back and twisting his head like he's angling for a kiss. There's an edge of desperation in his voice that could grow ugly, so Claire leans over him and cups his jaw and presses soft kisses to his lips till he stops choking over half-finished phrases and starts kissing her back, surging against her. Their teeth click and their noses bump and it makes Claire shudder, because Matt's a great wide void and Claire is hungry enough to drown in it, and people who make themselves heroes don't get happy endings but she wants nothing more than to fill him up for a while.

"Hey," she says, punctuates the word with a forceful kiss to his chin. "Hey, c'mon, babe." He draws in a loud breath, tilting his head to the side and gripping the bedframe with white knuckles when she steps back.

"Claire?" he asks, and the way his voice breaks tears her in two, the fear in it for the split second in which he'd thought she'd left makes her angry and oddly vulnerable. She trails fingers over his cheek, and he sighs, grateful, rolling into her touch.

"Fuck, Matt," Claire states simply, before she places her hands on his ribs, careful as she guides him onto his stomach. The moment he realizes what she wants, his breath catches and his cock twitches, and Matt, sweet, eager, earnest, props himself up on his knees and forearms, arching his back the way she taught him as he lets his head hang. "Fuck, _Matt_ ," Claire breathes, and this isn't about her so she's quick when she does it but she shoves her hand between her legs and grinds against her palm till her breath stutters when she sees how he fucking _presents_ himself to her.

"You're perfect, sweetheart, you're so good for me," she murmurs, one hand caressing the backs of his thighs as the other spreads out over the small of his back. He sucks in a breath, loud and graceless, and thrusts himself back when she rubs a soothing circle over his pelvis. Claire leans over and kisses the back of his neck, nuzzling the soft short hairs at the base of his skull before pulling back and tracing 'ten' in Morse code onto the skin between Matt's shoulder blades.

"Yeah," Matt sighs, because they've done this before. He knows how Claire plays. He arches his back further, spreads his knees wider. Helpless. "Yeah, please."

So fucking sweet, and Claire grins at how _fond_ she is before reeling back some and spanking Matt so hard she gets prickles in her palm.

He shouts, bucks forward then thrusts back, and he draws in a loud ragged breath before he speaks. "One," he says, shaky.

Claire evens him out, a handprint on each asscheek and Matt trembling as he fucks empty air. She's sharp and mean on the third, striking the thin skin right below his buttocks, and by the fifth his face is pressed into the mattress, his voice breaking over each number. So she soothes him, rubbing the bright red marks in gentle circles until his breathing isn't quite so hitched, then kisses the divot above his ass, gripping his hips and tilting them till he's entirely exposed to her. His hole is shiny red and pretty so she kisses that, too, and Matt groans like she's broken him when she does.

"Five more, babe," she narrates unnecessarily, stroking over his hole with two fingers, and Claire sees the realization in the way he tenses and tries, impossibly, to bend himself into a more inviting position. She spanks him neatly, the soft skin of his taint growing hot and irritated as he sways and shudders and bucks back into the pain, and when he sobs out a ragged "ten" he collapses, curling into the mattress and grinding against it, desperate and half-crying.

Now, Claire undresses. Now, Claire climbs onto the bed and presses herself up against his back and wraps an arm around his waist, scattering kisses over the ridges of his shoulder blades.

"Claire," Matt pleads, and Claire rolls him onto his back, straddles his hips and kisses him, cradling his face in her palms. He's still hard, and as she rocks over him just for the pleasure of feeling his naked skin on hers, she feels the curve of his cock catch on the soft skin of her pussy and shudders, because she's so _wet_. She's been aching for this since he'd approached her shyly with the rope and a mumbled suggestion. She keeps one hand on his jaw as the other grips his cock, holding it still as she rocks her hips in exploratory circles, till the head catches on the lips of her cunt and she presses _down_. He stretches her taut, for a moment, a brighthot bruising moment before she relaxes all at once and works him inside in several slow rolls of her hips.

He gasps then surges up then gasps again as his lips catch on one of her nipples, and Claire wraps a hand around the back of his neck as the other reaches down to rub her clit in hard, fast circles. It's not going to last long, not like this, not with Matt mouthing at her tit and her stomach tightening in a continuous lurch toward orgasm and Matt twitching inside her like he is. So Claire twists her hips and squeezes her insides and feels the core of her getting molten hot and volatile, and she grabs the baby hair at the base of his skull and tugs till his neck is arched and his mouth is open in one long moan.

"C'mon, Matt, c'mon, I'm so close," Claire rasps, teetering on the edge and she just needs one more _push_ , just one more buck of his hips -

He comes inside her and she _feels_ it, feels him bow and shudder and flood her with him, and Claire's orgasm swallows her whole, a flare between her hips that spreads outward and sets her bones afire.

"Shit, Matt," she murmurs, sighing into his hair and kissing his brow. Now that he's come, now that the moment is over and the power dynamics are being equalized in the wake of their orgasms, he's quick to tug pointedly at his restraints in way that is no longer sensual, quick to nudge her with his chin.

"Can you take these out?" he asks quietly, tilting his head to display his ear, and Claire nods, mostly to herself, running her fingers through his hair.

"I love you," because she doesn't get the opportunity to say it often, because saying it when he can hear would cause more problems then it would solve. Matt Murdock won't get a happy ending, and Claire won't complicate things for herself more than she has to, but she can have this, a heartbeat memory for the lonely nights.

Then she removes the earplugs, placing them on the bedside table and curling up beside him again.

"I missed the sound of your heartbeat," Matt says. Smiles.


End file.
